Hollow
by Carcilwen Thorned-Rose
Summary: An extremely dark and tragic look at the effects of Neo's sacrifice. POV of a girl who knew and loved him, and whose love was never returned. Not a romance.


Hollow  
  
Similar to "Riddles"...only different. Saner, and perhaps a bit more nonsensical at the same time. Monologue. Sometimes you don't know how much you need something until it's gone. A speck or two of LOTR interwoven with "The Matrix". I don't own either. Or Linkin Park. Like I said, I don't need a life. This is it. POV- Just a girl. A girl named Lampetia, who knew Neo and loved him unrequitedly.  
  
The light is dark. It is closed to all. The prelude was darkness, now sequel complete. Black was light, now light is black. Somewhere deep in the recesses of metal, I wait. There was nothing left after the last light. Perhaps for the core, but never for me. For a while it was alone. Now...who knows? The only way to be sure is to be released. But perhaps the way in which it was released is the final bond. Perhaps it is still to be seen if the black hole shall spit out its brightest and darkest victim. Hypocrisy, maybe, on my part. I say what I know to be not true. Words like that pierce me horribly, but I think that I have lied once more. One lie becomes another until untruth is the truth.  
There is no way to recover. Like the spike, this is reality. This is inescapable. Inevitable, is that what was said? So deep down that there was no light, I always knew that it would happen this way.  
But what good is the gift given to all that one laments?  
It's cold. Not damp, but slow and dry the cold creeps into me. I think that the shattering force of it all knocked my own mind out of whack.  
And even though you're so close to me, you're still so distant. And I can't bring you back.  
It's a refrain. I shut my eyes and will myself not to continue. It's so hopeless. Hopeless totally in every sense of the word. The colors do not exist. They are the remnants of an exploded, dead shell.  
Like what I watch. Deep, so deep and so cold. I await nothing. There will be no movement as long as I watch.  
Nothing, nothing, nothing. The darkness and emptiness is all- consuming and just as suddenly does not exist.  
But it's still there, causing itself to not exist. So how can it consume itself over nothing? I should know, for that's what I myself am doing here. Without a breath or hope.  
I cannot move except to breathe, and even that seems like a stretch. I cannot leave until I am relieved, and there is only one who can do that.  
Can the release really occur on its own without stimulus, or does something else need to happen, to motivate it?  
Exchange, perhaps.  
But still, without the other, why does the other need to go on?  
It did. It managed. But has that turned out for the better?  
If it could do such things with thoughts only for others...I wonder if I am doomed to be here forever, a victim of my own tragic obsession.  
I know others will call my name, echoing it though the empty tunnels, wondering, wondering, if the same fate has befallen me as the other.  
Never could I hope to compete. So I waited. Stalked. Watched. I anticipated it all. Except this.  
The silence is so complete. There is nothing. The dark has killed itself trying to be the darkest dark ever. Darkness. It's a strange concept. Of nothing, yet still of something.  
What is nothing? Does it exist, or does it just exist in nothingness?  
No light. But I can see. I can see the dark, the hopeless and all- enclosing dark.  
Why am I here? Can I not leave it alone, in peace?  
Because I refuse to believe what is right in front of me. Plain as day in the dark. A ray of darkness to pierce the light. But there never was any light, as long as I was sure of it. My torment was unknown, unseen to all, hidden beneath such a veneer as has never been seen. Such a hateful veneer. Cruel and pitiless. If only I had pity now. I need it. Still no sign. Is it not still something? Oh, signs of such agony. Pain. There must have been nothing left within it either. It was all co-dependent. Rescuing each other. Reciprocal. How I could ever hope to begin to understand it? The cold is worse. I feel myself weakening, the pulse within me slowing. Is this what I want, to be mired in my own fears and selfish hopes and finally to pass without a word? Any knowledge by anyone of what has become of me? One last glance. Even scarred, dead, he is beautiful to me. But what if I still have not a whisper or breath of a hope? What if it is the same as in this cold, hostile world? But aren't we all whole again, eventually? 


End file.
